Tomorrow at Seven

A good cast enlivens this rather routine closed circle of suspects murder done by RKO. Chester Morris over from MGM stars in this film, as a rather cocky crime novelist out to solve some real crimes. Over at Warner Brothers James Cagney would have fit this part better than O.J. Simpson fit that glove.

Morris is on the trail of a killer known as 'the Black Ace' who leaves an ace of spades at each of his crime scenes daring the police to catch him. Morris is following a lead concerning millionaire Henry Stephenson and on the way he meets up with Vivienne Osborne who is the daughter of Stephenson's private secretary Grant Mitchell.

When Stephenson gets a calling card they all decide to fly to his bayou plantation including a couple of Chicago cops played by Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins. As they are about to land Mitchell is murdered when the lights go out.

Things might have been solved faster if the law wasn't in the persons of McHugh and Jenkins. These two geniuses couldn't catch a cold they must have had influence at City Hall to have been made detectives. But they are a great deal responsible for a lot laughs in this film. Political influence wasn't exactly unknown in Chicago.

This probably would have been done with more style at Warner Brothers, still this is an entertaining mystery with more laughs than usual thanks to McHugh and Jenkins.

With a roomful of suspects listening tensely, police detective Frank McHugh reads aloud a letter that may identify the killer known as the Black Ace. Suddenly the lights go out. There are shrieks and shouts. When the lights come back on, the letter has vanished! –No, it's not the most original plot ever, but good humor and engaging performances still make this a fun little picture.

Chester Morris is a crime writer researching a book on the Black Ace, the elusive criminal who always leaves a black ace warning his victims they are soon to die. Morris visits Henry Stephenson, a well-known expert on the subject in hopes of joining forces. Vivienne Osborne is the plucky daughter of Stephenson's secretary; her father is an early victim. These three stars give solid, efficient performances.

The real central figures of the picture, however, are dubiously capable detectives Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins. The two make a catchy team, take turns butchering the language, and just generally undermine any attempts by the other characters—or the audience—at taking this whole picture too seriously. I guarantee you—if you don't like dumb detective humor, you will not enjoy this film!

The plot, though unoriginal, is nevertheless well managed; even Morris's character, the presumed hero, is a potential suspect, as is everyone else in the story.

Funniest bit: McHugh and Jenkins telling the story of their earlier encounter with the Black Ace, rich in impenetrable slang ("So I'm crowdin' him with the heater, but he don't belch…") and including McHugh's hilarious admonition to Jenkins—"How many times have I gotta tell ya? These guys don't understand them technical terms!"

The Black Ace warns his victims ahead when the time will come for them to die. Such is the basic premise of Tomorrow at Seven directed by Ray Enright and scripted by Ralph Spence. Interwoven into this basic premise is a young Chester Morris going to a Mr. Thorton Drake because he knows all there is to be known about the Black Ace. Morris is writing a book, meets a cute secretary that can introduce him, and all the main characters from that point on - including two cops included for protection - board a small plane to go to a huge mansion in Louisiana. All this to escape the ominous note saying Mr. Drake, played indelibly by Henry Stephenson, would die "tomorrow at seven." The old Southern home is reminiscent of the home used in the 1939 version of The Cat and the Canary(also taking place in Loiusiana). This film works because it has a pretty tight and inventive script, some good direction, and good acting. The mystery is not too terribly easy to solve - and though I figured it out - I could never be 100% sure!

I was impressed by Chester Morris as the square-jawed hero. He seems to be a more rugged version of Dick Powell. He is Clint Eastwood intense in some scenes, but quite relaxed on others. Great 1930's character actors Frank McHugh and Alan Jenkins provide some laughs as two bumbling, cowardly cops.

The plot is intriguing. A killer taunts his victims and the police by sending them the Ace of Spades as a sign that they're going to be murdered the following night at 7 P.M.. There are several nicely done scenes with some suspense, including an early 1930's passenger plane ride with lounge chairs rather than the passenger seats we're used to.

I thought the number of suspects should have been increased. There are really only about three people who could have committed the murders. Most good murder mysteries give us at least four or five to consider.

Still, a mixture of light humor together with a few moments of danger makes this film quite pleasant.

I think this qualifies as an "Old Dark House" film. Most of it takes place in a house, which is indeed both old and dark. Ralph Spence penned the typically high-quality script - it's impossible to guess the killer.

What really makes the film is the comic relief in the form of incompetent detectives played by Frank McHugh and Allen Jenkins. Actually, they're in the film as much as the leads. I'm a big Allen Jenkins fan. His Depression-era dumb guy persona brought a charm to every film it graced that's totally missing in today's actors. 8/10.